An Old Friend
by Vamp61616
Summary: Rubbish title, I know XD Just a fic that I started writing, set after the Great Game. Please forgive any mistakes and errors and stuff :-/
1. Chapter 1

Thanks to Flying-katana (who doesn't come on here as far as I know. You can find her on DeviantART) for pointing out grammar mistakes and typos :D

* * *

The stillness that followed was eerie, almost unnatural. Just John, Sherlock and Moriarty, locked in their poses. Nobody dared move a muscle, not while Sherlock still had the gun pointed downwards, at the jacket of explosives.

Suddenly, gunshots rang out, breaking the stillness. John froze, expecting Sherlock to fall to the ground, or to feel the same, unbearable pain he had felt in Afghanastan. But neither happened. What did happen, however, as the shots continued, was beyond unbelievable. One by one, the snipers' lasers disappeared. Just fell away. They all looked up as the body of a sniper fell into the pool.

Moriarty's grin faltered for a second, then widened.  
"Oh! That was quick!"

Sherlock's mobile rang. He ignored it. Probably just Sarah, worrying about John.

"Sh-Sherlock? What happened?" John asked once he'd gotten his breath back. Sherlock shook his head slightly, gazing at the body, obviously itching to examine it. His mobile rang again. He ignored it.

"Oh, for goodness sakes, DUCK!" a female voice echoed around the pool. Moriarty was still smiling, not moving an inch. Sherlock, however, hit the floor just as somebody swung over his head, suspended from the balcony above on a large rope. The figure didn't stop moving when she touched down, but stumbled to pick up the jacket, wrestling to wrap it around Moriarty. Still without stopping, she darted back and grabbed the gun off of Sherlock, pointing it at the explosives.

"Get out of here. I'll be right behind you," she ordered, keeping eye contact with the grinning villian. Nobody moved. Sherlock was staring at the woman, deducing everything he could from her back, his face impassive. She sighed, glancing backwards, "Listen, in two minutes he'll have a backup team here, and in case you hadn't noticed, I can't shoot them from down here while they're up there. Get. The hell. Out!"

Still Sherlock didn't move. John stared to slide unsteadily to his feet, his eye still on Moriarty. The girl looked round again.  
"Oh, for crying out loud, I forget, you never listen, do you?" With that, she tucked the gun into her back pocket and grabbed the two men by their wrists, dragging them out of the building.

When she was sure they'd follow her, she let go, sending one last glance back at the pool.

"He won't follow us, but it's nice to be a safe distance," she said, seemingly to herself, "Taxi!"

It wasn't until they'd clambered into the taxi and were well away from the pool that she spoke again.  
"It's been a while, hasn't it?"

"You've been following me," Sherlock noted.

"Yes." The woman sighed, "You saw me at the crime scene, after a Study in Pink, didn't you?"

"Hard to miss."

"Hang on," John interrupted, "Does everyone read my blog?"

"There was a link to it on Sherlock's website. Interesting, but you sketch over the details a lot," the woman explained.

"Who are you?"

"Sophie Murdock," Sherlock informed.

"I'm an old friend of Sherlock's. We were in secondary school together, for a short while." Sophie was silent for a short while, as the Taxi pulled up outside 221B Baker Street. It was only when they were safely inside that she visibly relaxed, making eye contact with Sherlock for the first time. After a second, she grinned and pulled him into an awkward hug. Awkward, mainly for the fact that Sherlock stood completely still and rigid, uncertain of how to react.

"Oh, it's been far too long. Look at you! You haven't changed a bit, have you?" she paused, "Well, apart from the fact that you're taller, have different clothes and your voice is lower, but still..."


	2. Chapter 2

TEH DEDUCTIONS!

* * *

"You were suposed to kill me, weren't you?" Sherlock said finally. Sophie smirked, unsurprised.

"Go on, enlighten me," she said, bracing herself for the deduction. Sherlock straightened up, returning to his comfort zone.

"At the pool, you were silent but quick; nobody noticed you until it was too late. Everything you do, the way you walk, you're silent, light footed. You keep yourself small and invisible: it wasn't until you were safely indoors that you spoke up properly, so you're trained to be stealthy, invisible in the open. You can handle a gun but nothing about you says military or police. You're not confident in the way you stand; there's no discipline there.

"So, assassin, _except_... A good assassin would be cold, unattatched, no matter the target. You've had plenty of good opportunities, following me around for so long, yet you still haven't made your move, so why follow me at all?" he paused, looking intently into her eyes, practically buzzing with energy, "The first time i noticed you, you were staring at me, you were holding a gun, crying. You looked scared. That told me you'd tried to kill me, but never fired the bullet. Why? You care, so you can't be a very good assassin. Perhaps you're too close, emotionally, to the target. That's true, but more likely it's your first time... Yes, you're trained to assassinate, yet you'd never been contracted to kill a man. _That's_ why you haven't killed me yet! _That's_ why you've been following me! You've been biding your time, hoping you can gather the strength, the courage.

"No... There's something else..." He jumped up with a small, sharp clap, "Of course! You weren't hiding the first time you tried to kill me. Perhaps you were confident, thought you could slip in and out without anyone noticing you, but you wouldn't be that stupid, would you?" He looked back at Sophie.  
"You were standing close enought to pick out details on your face, you _wanted_ to be recognised! You have Heterochromia, your eyes are two different colours, so if you stood close enough, people would recognise you by just your eyes. No, but you didn't want people to recognise you, you wanted _me_ to recognise you. Why? You've been contracted to kill me, why make yourself known? Oh, oh, OH! of course! You were _warning_ me! You _wanted_ me to know there was somebody after me, but you didn't want to be too obvious about it!" He stopped, looking rather pleased with himself.

Sophie blinked.

"All these years and you still never cease to amaze me..." She smiled up at him, "Maybe next time I'll just send you a note. 'Dear Sherlock, I've been told to kill you but I'm not going to, but I just thought I'd let you know that someone wants you dead. Best wishes, Sophie, your old friend from school, remember me?' It might shut you up for a minute or two."


	3. Chapter 3

"I should've known really. He didn't expect me to kill you; it's all part of his game."

"Who?" Sherlock asked, although he already knew the answer.

"Moriarty." Sophie looked up at him, fear and regret in her mismatched eyes, "I panicked. I should've thought it through, gathered what I knew and worked out a solution before I dived in headfirst, just like you always did, but I didn't!"

"What's the price?" Sherlock asked, "You wouldn't be so scared if it was just money."

"My parents, Sherlock," Sophie snapped, "He's got my parents out there, wrapped in explosives. I kill you, I get them back." She raised a hand as Sherlock opened his mouth, "Yes, I hated my parents. I hated their guts, but they're family; I still love them."

"What about Amy?"

Sophie raised a hand to her forehead, easing a growing headache.

"I don't know. I haven't seen her in years - she ran away from home. She could be anywhere, she..." Sophie broke off, realisation hitting her. "Oh God... She could be... He could've got her... What if he's had her since she ran away, what if she's already dead? She could be in big trouble..."

She swayed on the spot, her breathing sharp. She knew, as the edges of her vision blackened, that she was panicking again, but could do nothing to stop it as the hideous thoughts continued to swim in her head. She was crying heavily now, clinging to Sherlock for support as her head swam.

Both John and Sherlock realised what was happening at the last moment, moving to catch her as her eyes flickered shut and she fell to the floor. They looked at each other, then wordlessly carried her upstairs.

It was only when Sophie was lain carefully on the sofa, that John felt it was safe to laugh. Sherlock looked at him.

"What?"

"Sorry... it's just..." John burst out laughing again, "Your face when she hugged you!"

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, "Is that what she was doing? I thought she was executing some form of attack on me," he said, flashing John a quick smile to show he was joking. John looked at the sleeping figure of Sophie.

"Does that happen to her often?"

"Hm?" Sherlock followed his gaze, "Oh, the fainting, yes. She had attacks like that all the time, never got on very well at school, especially with all the bullies."

"Did she have any other friends?"

"Oh, one or two here and there. She was never very popular, why?"

"I can just tell she looks up to you," John explained. Sherlock gave a small smirk.

"Yes... She's always been rather fond of me. D'you know she followed me around for a month before I finally gave in and taught her how to deduce?"

Sophie stirred, "A week, Sherlock. I was only following you for a week..." She groaned, trying to sit up before flopping back down again, "Did I faint again? Well that's damned inconvenient. Well, at least I wasn't out for long that time. Only a few minutes, yes?"

John looked at her, "How did you..."

"Not difficult. Sherlock hasn't taken his coat off yet," she paused, "Oh, and I measure the amount of time to the severity of my headache. It isn't that bad, so I can't have been out long." She sighed, crawling off of the sofa and walking to the mirror, "Ugh, I'm a mess..." She sighed. Her eyes were, as Sherlock had said, two different colours. Her left eye was green, and her right eye was blue. Both were dark and tired. This, mixed with the dark brown colour of her hair, emphasised the pale white tone of her skin. She was wearing a casual pair of blue jeans, and a white t-shirt. Her feet were bare.

"You're not wearing any shoes..." John noticed. Sophie shrugged.

"Putting shoes on wastes time and slows me down. It's also hard to stay silent with shoes on. I prefer to leave them off."

"You'll catch-"

"I know, I know, I could catch a cold, I could get ill, blah, blah, blah... Boring!"

John smiled, "Old friend of Sherlock's. I'm seeing it now."

Sophie sent him a smile back, then looked to Sherlock, who was gazing out of the window, "What's up?"

"I've found your parents..."

Both Susan and John moved to the window. Below them, Moriarty stood, a man and a woman either side of him, both wrapped in explosives. Their faces were gaunt and pale with fear, but their resemblance to Sophie was unmistakable.

Moriarty looked up at the window and waved, grinning evilly.

"Oh God..." John groaned. Sophie swore repeatedly, running out of the room, before they followed her out.


End file.
